


This Is A Job For Fangirls

by jujubiest



Series: SPN Finale Fix-Its [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Becky Fixes It, F/M, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Post-Canon Fix-It, With some help from Sam and Eileen, Write your own ending they said, well here I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: Jack is God, Cas is gone, and Dean is dead. Sam Winchester is all alone, and ready to retreat into an empty life just to stop seeing reminders of his brother everywhere. But then his phone rings, and you'll never believe who's calling...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: SPN Finale Fix-Its [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051256
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	This Is A Job For Fangirls

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another SPN finale fix-it, because an ending that bad needs countless rewrites. If you liked the canon ending, that's great! I am 100% sincerely glad you got something positive out of it. But please don't tell me about it in the comments. I am not in a place where I can kind of see your point of view, and I doubt I ever will be.

"Sam!"

Sam stifles a groan and drops his duffel bag on the war room table, sinking into one of the chairs. He knows that voice. He seriously contemplates hanging up the phone.

"Wait don't hang up!"

He presses a hand to his forehead, a dull headache already throbbing there. He doesn't know what possessed him to answer, especially right now. Right when he just got back from burning his brother's body to ashes.

He's been quiet for too long. He sighs and resigns himself to whatever madness is coming his way now.

"Becky?"

"You remembered!" She says, sounding gratified but calm, warm in a way Sam doesn't associate with her.

"Of course," Sam says, wincing. How could he possibly forget? "How could I forget?"

"Right," she says apologetically. "Sorry. Again. But listen, I promise I'm not gonna be weird. I'm so good now! Lots of therapy, you know? I even got married...totally sans magic, I swear. Anyway...I'm calling because...I think I know how to fix things."

"Fix...what?" Sam is too exhausted for the strange hope-dread combination swirling in his stomach right now.

"You know...your story. Dean's story."

"Becky..." God, Sam feels _old_. Old and tired and sad. The last thing he needs is someone else messing around with their lives for entertainment. She must sense something of that sentiment in his tone, because she hurries on.

"Just...hear me out, okay? Chuck had all these other universes, right? Rough drafts, he called them."

"Yeah, and they were all terrible," Sam snaps. He doesn't need to remember how Chuck made him watch all the different ways he and Dean could kill each other. Not when Dean...when Dean is...

Becky is still talking, oblivious to his pain or carefully ignoring it. Her tone is gentler, but has a note of resolve in it Sam isn't sure he likes.

"Well...what if...those weren't the only stories about you and your brother?"

"Becky, what do you mean? And..." Suspicion washes over him, belated but strong. "How do you even know about Chuck and his drafts?"

"We used to date, remember?" Sam has tried very hard to forget about that, actually. "Dating Chuck basically meant being his de facto editor and personal cheerleading squad. I probably know more about his body of work than you do." There's a note of real anger in her voice. He doesn't think he's ever seen Becky Rosen angry, and he finds himself concerned in spite of himself about what Chuck might have done to make her sound like that.

But the anger is gone in a flash, and she's back to this oddly leveled-out version of her former perkiness.

"What if every story...even the fanfiction...what if they all had the ability to spawn countless worlds. All of them different, some happy, some sad. But all about you and your brother."

"Becky, if you tell me there's a world where Dean and I are living one of your slash fictions--"

"God no!" Becky says. "At least...I don't think so?"

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, the headache really building now. He doesn't know why he hasn't thrown the phone across the room yet. But the idea of being in this big, empty bunker by himself...his brother's bedroom down the hall, full of records he'll never listen to again, books he'll never read again, the bed he'll never sleep in...he can't do it. He thought he didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to see anyone at all. But now that he has someone's voice in his ear, he just can't do it. 

But nothing Becky is saying sounds like a solution to him so far.

"Becky...Chuck destroyed all the other worlds, most of which were terrible anyway. And even if he didn't, how would that help us here in this world?"

"Well first of all, you're wrong about that," Becky says, just the slightest hint of smugness creeping into her voice. "Chuck wasn't god of _everything_ , just his own worlds and stories. He can't destroy what he didn't create. He couldn't have killed his sister, and I'm sure he couldn't have like...ended the actual whole universe and reduced everything back to true nothingness. Pretty sure there's a whole other cosmic being in charge of that, but to be honest I'm fuzzy on some of his later drafts. They were really convoluted. And he...well." She pauses for a long moment, and Sam finds to his annoyance that he's actually holding his breath, waiting for her to go on.

"Becky," he snaps at last. "He what?"

"I don't wanna trash a fellow writer, but...Chuck never really understood how stories work. It wasn't about beauty or symmetry or craft or character for him. He didn't love stories as _stories_. He loved them for the power they gave him. That guy was all about the ego boost."

"He wanted to be big," Sam murmurs, almost to himself, remembering Amara's words from what seemed like ages ago. God, she had basically told them. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a wave of guilt-grief-regret wash over him.

"Sam?" Becky's voice is soft, like she knows what he's going through. Hell, maybe she does. Maybe she had a family and Chuck took them from her, one by one. If Sam and Dean had been his _favorite characters_ , what did that make Becky? What did someone who tortured their favorites do to the people they found expendable?

But he's not quite ready to commiserate, to share his grief with anyone else. And truth be told, that person would never be Becky, no matter how much her voice is his lifeline right now, in this very strange moment.

"Nothing," he says, shaking himself out of his own head. "Okay, so...what does all of that mean for..." For me. For Dean. For everyone.

"The one thing Chuck could never accept is that stories don't belong to the person who writes them. Once they're out in the world, they take on a life of their own. Literally, in your case. And they become important to people. And that gives those people power over them."

"Okay..." Sam no longer likes where this is going.

"Sam," Becky says, and for a moment he hears the giddy fangirl in her voice. Or maybe that's what hope sounds like to people who don't have it. "I think I can rewrite your stories. With final approval being all yours of course. And not...not everything, or forever. Just a jumping-off point, to give you guys a chance, y'know? Just fixing the stuff that went wrong at...at the end. I saw Chuck's last draft, and it was..." she stops, and he hears a soft sniffle. "It was awful. It was like everything you'd ever done just...didn't matter."

Sam stares at the table in front of him, not really seeing it. That's so perfect a description of how he feels right now that he doesn't know how to process it. Did Chuck manage to get one last dig in, even without his powers? Did he really fuck them up so thoroughly that they had no choice, even after everything, but to walk unknowingly to his crappy ending?

And even if he did...can Sam do this now? Is it right to? He told Dean it was okay, and if he believes in Jack--which he does--Dean should be at peace now. So can he make this choice for both of them? For all of them, everyone they've lost?

Maybe he shouldn't, but he already knows he's going to. Maybe it's selfish, but he knows-- _knows_ , deep down in his bones, that he can't live with himself if he does anything else. It will haunt him until his dying day.

"Okay," he says at last. "I'm gonna give you an address. Let's meet up and talk this through."

* * *

Sam meets Becky at the diner in Lebanon. He's surprised when he sees her, but he tries not to let on. She looks...settled, he decides. At home in her own skin in a way that makes Sam feel jealous, and that concept is so bizarre--feeling jealous of Becky Rosen--that he doesn't know how to handle it. She greets him with a fond smile and a bright hello, and surprisingly doesn't try to give him a hug, cop a feel, or even shake his hand.

So he feels extremely awkward when he explains that he needs to blindfold her to take her back to the bunker. But she just waves it off and takes the bandana from his hands, wrapping it securely around her own eyes and then standing still while he checks it before leading her to the Impala and helping her into the back seat, touching her as little as possible all the while.

"Okay," she says once he's slid into the driver's seat and shut the door. "I promised I wouldn't be weird, but...I have a tiny confession to make."

Sam braces himself for something graphic and sexual. Becky adjusts her skirt over her knees and leans forward just a bit, whispering as though she's afraid someone else might hear.

"I've always wanted to ride in this car." And that's it. Sam smiles, bemused, and finds himself huffing a surprised laugh as he puts the key in the ignition.

"Becky," he says. "That's the least weird thing you've ever said."

And he drives, heading for the bunker with hope rearing its ugly little head in his heart and Becky Rosen sitting primly in his brother's back seat. He takes some comfort in the fact that this is so weird that surely no one, not even a hack like Chuck, would ever think write it.

As soon as they reach the bunker and he's left Becky--sans blindfold--in the war room, he goes to his room and shuts the door. Pulls out his phone and makes a video call.

Eileen's face popping up on his screen sends a jolt of happiness shooting through him, even now. He wants to feel guilty about that, but he can't bring himself to. Not when hope is gripping his heart like a steel vise.

He signs quickly and probably messily, talking at the same time so hopefully his lip movements will fill in the gaps where his fingers are failing him. He explains about Becky first, then tells her about Dean. The look in her eyes at the news of Dean's death hurts him even as it makes him love her more.

"Becky is...not the most reliable person in the world," he says and signs. "But she tends to know what she's talking about when it comes to Chuck. I believe her. I want to try what she's suggesting. But...I need your help, Eileen."

She doesn't hesitate, another thing that has Sam reeling inside with just how much he loves this woman.

"I'll be there," she says and signs.

* * *

It takes the three of them a long time. The better part of a year, in fact. Writing is hard at the best of times, but sifting through Chuck's work to pick out all the loose and snarled threads, unravel the knots, and weave the whole thing back together into a consistent whole? That's a nightmare wrapped in a migraine stuffed with a hangover, and the fact that the three of them apparently have vastly different writing styles doesn't help. Sam distantly remembers studying for the LSATs until he thought his eyes were going to bleed. He finds himself feeling nostalgic about the comparative ease of that experience.

Becky spends the first week in the bunker with them, then goes home and collaborates via email and video chats. Sam finally decides he actually likes this new Becky when she logs on to their first video call and clumsily signs a greeting to Eileen.

True to her word, Becky defers to Sam in almost everything. But she also reminds him of plenty of things--and people--he's ashamed to realize he'd forgotten. People who deserve peace--and a chance at a real life--just as much as Sam and Dean.

Eileen stays at the bunker the entire time. After about six months, Sam drags up every ounce of courage he has, one late-night writing session over pizza. They take a break the following weekend, and Sam helps Eileen move all her stuff into the bunker.

Eileen is not a writer like Becky, or a researcher like Sam. Eileen is an _editor_ , and she hacks up their first few drafts without mercy. But they're better for it in the end.

And at last, eleven months after they started, they have the finished work in their hands. It isn't perfect, Sam knows. It won't be the kind of story that would knock anyone's socks off or resonate across generations.

In the end it's just a story about two brothers, a fallen angel, their son, and all the family they found and lost and found again along the way. It's about holding onto each other through bad times, learning to let go of the past and enjoy the good times. It's about second chances, love, grief, acceptance, renewal. It's about how family doesn't end with blood, and the thorny problem of free will, and why it's still worth fighting for even when it sometimes hurts. It's about not just brothers, but also sisters, and parents, and lovers, and friends upon friends upon friends. Perfect and imperfect, fleeting and long-term. It's about happiness, and how everyone deserves to be saved.

And when it's all said and done, more than anything else, it's about...peace.

All that's left now is the part where everyone has to make a choice.

* * *

Dean wakes up feeling too-warm and groggy, blinking at his alarm clock in confusion. It's 3am.

His eyes case the room quickly, looking for any potential threat as his ears listen for any sound in the hall that might be cause for concern. It's a habit born of years living on the road and working hard to stay off the radar, and it will never fade away completely.

But there's nothing there, no shadow out of place, no footfalls outside. He frowns, wondering what woke him, then shrugs and lays back down. But he finds that he can't quite fall asleep.

He turns over to face the reason he's far too warm under both his blankets, and he can't fight a soft smile from settling, still not-quite-familiar, on his lips. He was dreaming, he recalls, not exactly a nightmare but not a good dream, either. It was a dream about futility and a senseless death, and waking up in a hollow and meaningless paradise, an empty car and a long road to nowhere. He shivers in spite of the heat and curls closer, touching his forehead to that of the person sharing his bed.

Cas stirs and opens his eyes, fixing Dean with a stare so blue he can see a glint of color even in the darkened room.

"Dean." He says softly. Not a question, but an answer. Dean's smile widens. He leans in and presses a kiss just beneath one of those blue, blue eyes.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers. "Nothin' to worry about."

Cas closes his eyes and presses himself more firmly into Dean's arms, tangling their legs and slipping his arms around Dean's middle, fingers resting lightly against his lower back. Dean holds him tighter, huffing a laugh into the top of his hair. He has no idea how Cas manages to make himself seem so small and all-encompassing at the same time, but he isn't about to complain. Even if sleeping with Cas is a bit like snuggling up to a handsy octopus.

They have worked so hard to get here. And here is _good_. Here is everything.

In a few hours he'll get up, make coffee, maybe some bacon and eggs. Sam and Eileen will be awake already, poring over old books with cold cups of tea sitting forgotten off to the side, heads together and knees brushing under the table. Ah, nerds in love.

It's almost New Year's, the holiday they've all decided on as their hodgepodge family reunion. Once again, they've been suckered into hosting as the ones with the most space. People will be showing up in droves within the week, early birds hoping to claim the best rooms in the bunker before they're all full.

Claire and Kaia will show up first, Dean would bet on it, with Alex not far behind. Jody will arrive at the same time as Donna, and grumble half-heartedly about sharing a room even though Dean knows good and well they prefer it that way. The rest of Jody's girls will arrive--Patience, and the new one whose name Dean doesn't quite have down yet--the day before, if prior years are any indication.

Then the floodgates will open. Charlie and Stevie, then Charlie and Dorothy. His mom will have one Bobby in tow, Ellen the other, and he grins as he thinks of all the ways the two women will endeavor to make it awkward on purpose. Jo will show up just late enough to irk her mother, smart-mouthed and twirling a knife in one hand because she knows it makes her look cool. Dean grins. That's his Jo.

Benny will probably show up with Meg, Bela, or both. He can never figure out how those three don't kill each other. The only thing weirder to him than those particular people shacking up is Michael and Adam literally sharing a body. At some point he needs to drink enough to ask them how that even works.

Kevin's mom will drag him away from school by force if necessary. Same with Lisa and Ben. Oh, he can't _wait_ to pester Ben for details about grad school. He can't believe the kid's already twenty-six. He remembers himself at that age: brash, defensive, rushing headlong at death as fast as he could go. Ben is so different from him, in the best way possible. It makes his chest constrict with a joy that's almost pain every time he thinks about that.

Beyond that, who arrives next is always a toss-up. Garth will probably just facetime in at some point. Dean misses the guy, but two four-year-old werewolves are not easy to travel with, and being surrounded by hunters still makes Bess a bit nervous.

Oddly, the fact that the Queen of Hell and her son also have an open invitation doesn't put her more at ease.

Krissy might drop in if she has a case within a hundred miles. Or she might show up a week late, asking about leftovers. Dean makes a mental note to put a couple of plates aside just for her.

Donatello will promise to show up, then get engrossed in a book and forget. Another mental note, to ask someone who can teleport to go fetch him before dinner starts. Maggie pretty much lives here anyway. Gabe and Anna will make an appearance, if only to needle Mikey and make jokes about him and Cas and their humans (lewd ones on Gabe's part, endless I-told-you-so's on Anna's).

Ketch...well, he always makes himself scarce at these things. Dean thinks he's still nursing his wounded pride at seeing Mary prefer a grumpy old drunk like Bobby over his posh, well-heeled self. _Good for you, Mom_ , Dean thinks with a smirk. He's okay with Ketch, but in no universe is he ever going to like the idea of the guy dating his mother.

Emma will text him day-of, but she won't show. Dean is still fumbling awkwardly toward having a real relationship with his daughter, and half the time he thinks he's doing everything wrong. But she hasn't told him to fuck off forever yet, so he'll take it.

Becky will inevitably show up with odd fangirly gifts for everyone, and Sam will elbow Dean and tell him to be nice because "dude, we _owe_ her." Whatever that means.

Kelly will bring Jack for a few hours to see his Auntie Amara, who will take a break from...being Amara, for that if nothing else. He'll be asleep before dinner, but it'll be worth it to see him. Dean is looking forward to the day Jack is big enough to talk to again. He misses the kid he knew more than he thought possible, even if he does make an adorable toddler. He can't wait to teach the kid how to drive the Impala again, or take him fishing. 

Last of all will come Ash, stumbling into the middle of the party, with or without pants. By the time the clock strikes midnight he'll probably be making out with Gabriel in a corner. Dean grimaces at the mental image that evokes and buries his face into Cas's hair again to dispel it.

When they ring in the new year, Dean will be surrounded by the people he loves. He'll meet Sam's eyes across the room and share a disbelieving smile that grows a little less skeptical every year. And then he'll turn and kiss his angel like his life depends on it.

But all of that will come later. For now, Dean drifts slowly back to sleep, Cas wrapped around him and all bad dreams forgotten, a soft smile still lingering on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering where X character is, Becky's rewrites offered everyone a choice. If Dean doesn't mention them, they either chose to get a second chance and stay far away from the Winchesters (valid), or they chose to remain at peace as they were.
> 
> There are some clues to how much time has passed scattered throughout Dean's perspective, but if you're not 100% certain it's 3 years since Sam, Becky, and Eileen fixed things. And yes, Dean does still wake up at night dreaming of that terrible ending, but he always falls asleep quickly curled up next to Cas, listing off all the people he loves in his mind.


End file.
